Far Gone
by Arctic-Revenge
Summary: ."He always was too far gone." Warnings: Future fic, Post War, Harry!UnsavoryConditions. Rated: R For Sexual Deviance, Illegal Substances, Kidnapping, Language and Stalking. Pairing: Harry/Draco. Unbeta’d.


Arctic_Revenge: Don't own, never will. Warnings: Future fic, Post War, Harry!UnsavoryConditions. Rated: R For Sexual Deviance, Illegal Substances, Kidnapping, Language and Stalking.

Pairing: Harry/Draco. Unbeta'd.

---- "It had come on anonymous tip; word of mouth from a colleague of a colleague of a colleague of a colleague's suspect in interrogation. Normally I didn't associate myself with the seedy underbelly of society, or what they had to say but, when Jenks came to my office Saturday night with rumor-milled word of Harry Potter, I listened."

---- "'That's the fifth confunded addict describing Potter, to the letter, this year. Same place, same scar, same everything! It can't be coincidence!' Jenks said. 'Potter's in Riquer's Square, I'm telling you!'"

---- "Riquer's Square, well it wasn't a I place I'd ever wanted to visit, but if the name of Potter had been so much as smelt there, there I'd go. Some of my closer workmates worried over my long-held obsession with Gryffindor's Golden Boy, War Hero. I'd been searching for him since… it seemed like forever. Sometimes I wonder if that's the only reason I became a field Auror, to look for him. The question of why always remained untouched, for sake of pride, but I think I knew in my soul it was because I had nothing to measure up to anymore."

---- "I arrived the muggle way, by taxi, because that was about the safest way to travel in this part of muggle London. It had rained here recently. I could smell the sewage, acrid stench kicked up with fresh acid rain. Soggy cigarette butts and black spots of un-degradable chewing gum detailed the craggy cement walks. Damp, flimsy complexes reeked of impending mold from the dampness and moss had already started into telephone poles and the boards crookedly sealing the windows and doors of nearly every building in sight."

---- "There was really no sign of life here, apart from the mold and moss. I could even hear the taxi, though it had long gone away, in the distance. I walked on though, desperate to see if the rumor was true, or false like hundreds of others before it. Rain bleached papers either tacked to the doors or long fallen to the stoops, read 'condemned' and a part of me laughed because it seemed they were directed at me- seeing as I must have been the only person to observe them in ages."

---- "I found however, that there were human beings here after all. I almost didn't notice because the passed out drunkard camouflaged so well with the cracking brick of the building he'd slumped against. It seemed that the block of condemned buildings was like a protective layer from the outside world. The farther in I got, the more my stomach churned. To the sewage and rot, added the smell of bodily fluids, burnt metal, smoke, cheap swill and of course, more urban decay."

---- "Even dressed as inconspicuously as I was for a normal muggle, I was head and neck above the rags these people wore- if you could call them people. Many who growled at me had as many teeth as there were pence in their pockets. Many were wraith- thin, crusted and dilapidated like the walls of their homes. A lot of them stared off catatonically, and I had to question if they were alive or dead. Those ones, I had learned in Auror training to judge by the discarded but nearby tie-offs and hypodermic needles, were merely addicts. The few of which who were sobered looked at me in misery and disdain from their porches, alleys, and junk-heap cars."

---- "One had to be sensitive to sound here, because if you weren't, the general silence would drive you mad. The crinkling of plastic baggies filled with powder, the rustle of small denominations of money… and the occasional lewd creaking of mattresses from indiscernible buildings. It seemed like a filthy utopia, peace brought in on narcotic wings."

---- "'Go home Richie boy. Unless you some kind of newbie dealer, you'd best get gone.' She said to me, voice strained from lack of use and dehydration. I told her I was looking for a man about my age, with the unruliest of black hair and vivid green eyes. Naturally, she grimaced at me but, she was tempted enough by the quid I pulled from my wallet. 'That boy dun be needin' no more of you pervy types bothering 'im. You leave poor Thomas alone!' As she beat me away with her rucksack. Obviously, even in the worst of all possible worlds, Potter had managed to garner himself some love."

---- "Another man from across the way shouted at her in some rather crude language, and yelled in a way I will never forget, 'Rasputia, you ain't be be defendin' that whore-boy!! If blondie here wants the over-used piece of arse, let 'im! 2719 Bramsway!!' and then he laughed, as the black woman in front of me stormed away to no doubt start a domestic dispute unlike I'd ever seen- or would ever see, because I was more interested in the whore-boy of 2719 Bramsway."

----"I'd found him on the broken stone steps of a building which only had two numbers of its full address and no glass in its panes. He was, inside and out, too much like an old stretch of wallpaper; curling, peeling, chipped- faded and yellow and so far from his former glory."

----"His eyes, which I remembered to be annoyingly resonant facets of peridot, now held the depth of cheap, matte spray-paint; the color of withered plant life. And I couldn't help wondering, as pitying or malicious as it sounds, what force on earth had finally been able to snuff him out. His skin held all the health of a single page of last month's newsprint, abandoned in the rainy streets of London and left to dry up into a stiff, brittle pallid- skittering down the street with the wind."

---- "The worst, I supposed, was that even from here I could taste the tricks he'd performed with that pouty mouth. It was like a foul, 'John'-flavored lip-gloss, which he wore far too liberally- licking it away with vacant reflex. And he merely sat on that stone stoop, under the shadow of the condemned, rat-hole apartment complexes, staring up at the slate sky. I looked up there as well, hoping to find how high that dingy syringe had taken the former Boy-Who-Lived."

---- "I wondered if I should bother him. Some part of me, the old me, told me to rile him up and bring back that old spark in his being; the part of me which fell into outrage, seeing its school time nemesis so far gone. The other part of me, the new me, wondered if he would even recognize me in, or out, of his narcotic-induced state. And if I did bother him, some voice in me said that he might crumble with the slightest touch."

---- "I came back day after day, catching him in numerous, disgusting and varying acts. First I'd arrived just in time to see a scrawny older man drop a bill and some coins on Potter's head, upon leaving the stoop. Without the energy to scrounge it all up, or even wipe the semen from his chest, he passed out against the rusty railing."

---- "Next time it was in the act, on the porch, in _public view_. Another grubby man, flanked by friends, had his dick impaled in Potter's arse, grunting as he came as deep inside as he could- trading places with one of the others who was in dire need of somewhere to shove their seed. Blood and semen smeared his thighs, erection grinding into brick. Potter didn't even scream."

---- "The last time, was Potter purchasing and using his drug of choice from a dealer at the corner house. He had a limp from the day before, but his sanctuary was in sight, so he didn't care. They argued briefly, the dealer groped Potter's crotch and let him go enjoy his high."

---- "I left him there four times, agreeing with myself that he would be there tomorrow and forever if let alone to his drugs. I would come back and try to catch him sobered and alone. But all I did that night, as all nights since, was toss and turn; thinking over the remains of the Boy-Who-Lived to annoy me. The word 'whore' resonated in my head and failed to connect with the belligerent, brazen golden-Gryffindor of yester-year. I stared at my ceiling with Slytherin resolution. I was going to steal him back. Harry Potter was mine and noone else's."

---- "Returning early the next morning, it was even more desolate then the previous evening. 2719 Bramsway appeared vacant, but I snuck inside anyway. It wasn't as if any of these doors had locks, or if they did, as if they'd do any good. Gray-blue paint peeled from the warped wood stairs and floors of the fourth floor apartment. The ancient wallpaper that described Potter's air also plastered the entire one room house. It smelt heavily of lead paint chippings, burnt metal and sex and on a discolored mattress in the corner, I spied Potter."

---- "It didn't look like he'd be waking up any time soon, so I examined closer. He was skeletal, as many addicts became. He donned no shirt, so his ribcage, using veins and remaining ab muscles were prominent. His hair was wild and longer, looking like he'd cut it with broken glass and not scissors- which was entirely likely. His glasses were gone, probably broken, stolen or hawked for a bit of habit money and there were deep, dark circles under his eyes."

---- "I wasn't aware he was even awake until there was a fisted syringe sailing towards my face. It was only thanks to Seeker reflexes and defensive training in the Auror program I was able to catch his wrist and pin him down. He hissed and kicked and bit like a wild animal until I forced him to look at my face. Then he jumped off the deep end. If there's one thing I learned, it was that junkies move _fast._ He bit down hard on my wrist, wrenched free and landed a boney fist to my jaw. He was at the bottom of the stairs by the time I spat the blood from my mouth and started after him."

---- "It didn't take more than a discrete tripping jinx to stop him. He hollered in pain, probably breaking a bone or two from poor nutrition colliding with the pavement of the alley. Figuring this a private enough place, I disapparated with him as a side-long, praying to Merlin's ghost we'd not splinch."

---- "I'd made careful note to knock him unconscious before mending his bones. I'd done quite well in the emergency healing course during the academy, so patching him up was no big deal. I'd brewed dozens of malnutrition and detox potions before today just for this reason. Finally, casting multiple types of MUCH needed cleaning spells on him, I bound him with conjured ropes and reawakened him. Needless to say, he was not pleased."

---- "He thrashed about and yelled profanities I'd never even heard before and some of them were in Parceltongue. But, I merely sat in the chair quietly and waited for him to exhaust himself. It took several more minutes than I thought it would. When his eyes finally glassed over and he slumped into the decent mattress below him, I finally spoke."

---- "Potter, you do realize I'm trying to help you, don't you?"

---- "'THAT'S NOT MY NAME!! YOU CAN'T MAKE ME GO BACK!! I WON'T, YOU TWAT-FACED CUNT FUCKER!!' He said with one last gusto, hyperventilation on the brink."

---- "Yes, I noticed you'd changed your name. Thomas Six. I get the Dark Lord reference but, the Six?"

---- "'Men I can service in one go!' He spat at me, trying to shock me, I could tell. It kind of did. I couldn't figure how one person could… ack. Disgusting."

---- "'I see. Well, I think it's time for potions. Tell me, Potter, when's the last time you ate something other than cock?' He did nothing but growl at me like a junkyard Rottweiler. 'Malnourishment potion, then. If you're cooperative, real food. Can't have you biting me again."

---- "'You can't KEEP me HERE you SHITGOBBED, WHACK-OFF!!' I raised an eyebrow but, retrieved the potion vial regardless. I held the opened remedy to his face. 'Suck MUDHONEY!!!'"

---- "'Open, or I'll knock you out.' I tried again but, he didn't relent. So I made good on my promise. The rest of the night was spent forcing potions down an unconscious Potter's normally _easy _throat. I let him sleep for a long time. His body craved the rest after ingesting high doses of potions. There was an immediate, albeit subtle improvement in his appearance. This was going to be a long, treacherous undertaking."

---- "After the first two days, Potter started to detox. He shook with the sweats, bit back moans, rocked himself in bed… he screamed at me to get him his fix, never begging, always screaming- sometimes crying, but never begging. He vomited quite a lot for someone who ate so little. The boys at work didn't have a clue was I was doing. Was it illegal? Definitely. Immoral? Questionably. I was doing SOME good, getting him clean- no matter my selfish reasons. As far as anyone knew, I was merely getting ready to take my first paid vacation since joining the force."

---- "Things started to take a turn by the weekend however. Potter retracted quite a bit, beaten down by his near unbearable detox. Some nights, he needed someone- namely me- to watch over him at night so that he didn't hurt himself in the midnight hours, which he'd gotten very creative in doing in his tied up state. It was admittedly a terrifying prospect, having to share bed space with a psychotic junkie Gryffindor but I learned that he calmed much quicker if he had something familiar to hold on to; ie: the body of another man."

---- "As the detox process continued, quickened by potions, rage became hysteria. Hysteria became self-loathing. Self-loathing became pure depression. It was at this time that he had become the most difficult. Before, at least his body was receptive to the treatment he was being given. Now, it seemed to be rejecting everything. Potter slept longer, ate nothing, never spoke… and I honestly didn't know what to do about that. Bringing in a PsyHealer in would be disastrous. I'd be thrown in Azkaban and Potter would be taken from my care. All I could do was wait it out."

---- "The first thing I did, whether it was a brilliant idea on my behalf or not, was letting him walk around the villa. Not as grand as Malfoy Manor, but private enough where no one would ever see him from the property line. It was a monstrous undertaking to ensure that the now ever-calm Potter didn't suddenly fling himself into harm's way the moment I wasn't paying mind- as he did the first time, trying to fall into the hearth. After many days of trial and error, and wards designed to keep him from running away, Potter had carved himself a niche in one of the villa's libraries. He never read anything, not that I could see anyway. No, what he liked to do was sit in a simple desk chair and stare out the sunny window into the garden in the back yard. It wasn't an impressive thing, seeing as I lived by myself and wasn't often home to work on it in the past, but he seemed to like it well enough to come back on his own every day."

---- "By the end of the week, Potter had not tried to hurt himself again and we both had fallen into routine of taking lunch in the little library. He'd never make eye contact with me and as infuriating as that was, I couldn't help but smile as he started eating by himself. It was always a nagging question in the back of my mind, if he really had any awareness to his situation. He'd never actually addressed me by my name, though it was obvious he recognized me as a demon of his past. He never asked about Granger or the Weasel, Hogwarts or the war. In fact, he hardly spoke at all and when he did, a fair bit of it was in his sleep."

---- "As the third week ended, Potter had grown more accustomed to my company. He'd not mentioned drugs in almost two weeks but every so often I would catch him massaging his veins with his thumb. The dull lifelessness had not left his eyes and I wondered if it would ever. I didn't think the narcotics had rendered him in part brain dead but I could never be certain. The only contest to this was that, though slow moving and disengaged as he was, he was high functioning and didn't need me to care for him like an invalid."

---- "One morning, I was terrified to find that Potter was not in bed when I woke. Naturally I tore apart the house looking for him and it was a quick find, thank Merlin, for I had glimpsed him out the window when blustering into the library. He was sitting, dressed of course, out in the sun near a patch of strawberry bushes. I sighed greatly, apparating outside and inadvertently startling him. I cut the silence, standing over his shoulder, 'You'll need a change of clothes and a bath now, you realize'. He stared at the sun for awhile, basking, not caring that he lay in the dirt. After a minute his ears picked up and he lolled his head lazily to the right, hissing to a nearby garden snake. The creature slithered across his hand and wrapped around his wrist. It was the most I'd seen Potter converse in weeks."

---- "After that day, I felt it was time I returned to work. Potter kept the snake in the backyard as a companion and showed no signs of fleeing the villa for Riquer's Square. Life was hectic, auror hours and Potter to look after, but I assumed it was not different than having a child or spouse with the Dragon Pox, as Jefferies did but a week ago. I had lied and told Jenks and anyone who asked that Potter was still in the wind, though Jenks, to his credit, didn't believe me. He kept quiet though and didn't pry."

---- "On a particularly late night at work, I returned home to find Potter nowhere on the property. I did however find a note, left on his chair in the library."

---- "Thank you for caring."

---- "Panicked, I rushed in my auror robes to Riquer's Square, apparating into the stairwell where no one would see. Potter was neither in the house nor on the stoop. Not in the alley or at the dealer's. Potter wasn't here any longer. He'd moved on."

---- "I returned home frustrated, and a little more than disconsolate. I knew that Potter didn't want to return to the wizarding world and I thought that he was ok with merely staying with me. It was apparent through his note that he was grateful to me for all I'd done but, in the end he didn't think he could stay. His one sentence of gratitude was vague enough to make me worry. He was still depressed and there was still a chance he would hurt himself. There was still a chance that he'd return to his habit and wind up in another broken down city slum. Or maybe, if by any miracle I had straightened him out, he'd try to start a decent muggle life for himself."

---- "Still brooding upon this as I went to bed, I found that I missed having him beside me in the sheets. I even missed the feverish screaming from his nightmares and the profanities he used to yell. The house was very empty without him. I found myself eating alone in the second floor library every meal I had at home. I found myself standing out in the strawberry patch for nearly an hour some days, listening to the wind as if perhaps it were Parceltongue."

---- "Jenks returned to my office one day, as I'd grown accustomed to over the years, and looked over my inconsolable figure."

---- "'There's word of Potter in Old Brampton.' He said to me with a tone that said was sensitive to my loss."

---- "'I had him so close.' I said under my breath, after a moment; cradling my head in my hands. Jenks offered a sympathetic smile."

---- "'Are you going to go off after him again?' He prompted, trying to raise my spirits for the hunt. I told him no."

---- "Old Brampton found me like Riquer's Square had. Rainy, cold and unpleasant. Potter wasn't in any of the ten dozen locations where he was supposed to be. It had taken to raining hard the fourth day I scoured the town. Miserable, I kicked the side of a building and a chunk of loose brick fell free. I was soaked, my hunt was a failure like so many times before and I sat down on the curb by a stop sign to sort myself out."

---- "I had wallowed too long in my misery to notice the fat drops of water had stopped pelting my head and my clothes were dry. A levitated umbrella floated over my head in muggle Brampton, but there was no one around that I could see in the downpour conditions. I wanted to cry. I knew it was him, but there was no proof other than his stereotypical, silent act of kindness. I looked every which way in the rain but, I didn't bother shouting his name- whatever it was now. He wouldn't hear me. He always was too far gone."

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